


To Rule

by thefirecrest



Series: Drabbles/Unfinished Works/Prompts [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Drabble, Multi, Self-Insert, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 07:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirecrest/pseuds/thefirecrest
Summary: A woman from our world wakes up in the body of one Cersei Lannister, and subsequently tries her best to keep the realm and royal family from self-destructing.(An attempt on a realistic portrayal if someone actually woke up in the insane situation of suddenly becoming Cersei. Not complete. Definitely slow-burn. A loose study on GRRM's style. And mostly to get some constructive criticism and get an idea of where I want to take this.)





	To Rule

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter one is almost complete (3/4), which should give you a good idea of how long each chapter will be if/when I ever do continue with this. Thanks for reading.

_ This was not her bed. _

The thought was like a dagger, or a cold spear of ice, that pinched at her stomach the moment she woke and felt the unfamiliar linens pressing to her body. It was far too warm beneath the heavy duvet and the chill at her face far too cold. Her toes brushed against soft furs though she knew her own bedding was made of cotton.

Sarah hesitated to move as her mind worked to remember the previous night. She was not one to drink until she could not recall, and even so she could clearly remember settling to sleep in her own apartment, in her own room, and in her own bed last night. But that was obvious not where she lay now.

Curiosity and urgency overrode her paralysing panic but she still took care to rise slowly, reaching out her senses in search of any sign of life. Nothing stirred but her. She could not even hear the steady clicking the fan in her room; further proof that she was not home. But as she took in her surroundings she began to fear that she was still dreaming.

Stone made up the walls of the room and wood nearly everything else. It was dark, as the sunlight filtering through the window was reduced to a small ray by wooden shutters. She could just make out a huge door to her left, also wood and studded with iron like something out of a renaissance fair. Her duvet, now that she examined it further, were made of heavy furs. And it was freezing cold.

Sarah let out of shallow gasp and rubbed her hands over her goosebumping arms as the cold bit at her. Now she noticed that she was not even wearing what she had gone to sleep in. Now she was wearing some sort of nightgown, loose and puffy at the sleeves, and made of some thin material. God it was  _ freezing _ . Common sense told her that she had to hurry and find out what was going on (and get out before it was too late) but she feared her body may not comply with this temperature. How could it be so  _ damnably cold _ ? It was the middle of summer in California!

Or at least, she hoped she was still in California.

She debated her options a few more moments, but it was already too late. Someone knocked sharply on the wooden door.

“Your Grace,” a soft feminine voice came from the otherside. “Are you awake? It is nearly time to break your fast. The Lords and Ladies gather now in the dining hall.”

_ What?  _ The accent was so thick that Sarah could hardly understand it. It sounded english, or at the very least European. It fit with her current surroundings but only served to further her own confusion.

“Your Grace?”

Sarah kept silent, now frozen with fear. She had no idea what she was to do in this situation. There was no way in telling the intent of the stranger on the other side of the door. Whoever it was sounded female but she could not be certain. She could not see the faceless women. All she knew was that she had been removed from her bed and home sometime in the night and placed in this bizarre replication of a medieval bedchamber, and now someone she did not know was asking for entry. Sarah was not about to open her mouth and let her presence be known.

Silence prevailed for many moments as she held her breath. Perhaps the stranger had left?

“Your Grace, my deepest apologizes, I am entering now.”

Before Sarah could even think to hide the door swung open slowly and in stepped a mousy looking woman dressed in heavy brown robes. Sarah watched the stranger wordlessly as she first walked to the window and opened it, letting in the morning sunlight, then to a trunk - now revealed in the light- and began pulling out fabrics. Not once did she raise her head to look at Sarah.

“Does her Grace have any specific desires on this day?” The woman asked. Sarah did not answer.

It seemed this time her silence could no longer be tolerated. Almost hesitantly, the woman raised her head and meekly looked into her face as if she feared retribution. It was the look of a victim of abuse if Sarah ever did see one. It brought thaw to her fear frozen heart and she briefly wondered if this woman had also been kidnapped.

“Your Grace-”

“What’s your name?” Sarah blurted out, cutting off whatever the other woman had been about to say. But the sudden shock at hearing her own voice distracted Sarah once again. Her mouth seemed to not recognize the shape of her words, and twisted until her voice came out warped, some strange accented alelgemation of American and some other cadence. Her voice was also deeper and richer than her own. Her hands mindlessly came up to cup her throat, shocked.

And then she saw her hair. What Sarah knew to be short brown strands, styled in a pixie cut, now came down in beautiful golden ringlets, almost shimmering in the sunlight. The color was so eye catching she was surprised to have not noticed it sooner. The base of the golden strands brushed at her waist. No. This was not right. Nothing was right here.

The other woman in the room made a noise which reminded Sarah that she was not alone here. She looked up and saw that the woman looked startled and bemused. In her hands she held several heavy fabrics.

“What-” Sarah croaked out in a stranger’s voice, “What is going on?”

“Y-You’re Grace?” Stuttered the woman even more hesitant.

Something else caught the glint of the sun and Sarah snapped her head around to look at it. It was a mirror.

And out of it, with horrified emerald green eyes, stared a beautiful and familiar woman.

~*~

_ Cersei Lannister. _

It must be some dream then, Sarah thought. For it was Cersei Lannister’s body which she now possessed and walked and talked in. Her handmaiden - she assumed- named Bernadette had valiantly ignored her strange behavior that morning, and went on her duties to prepare her Queen for the day. She had laced up Sarah’s dress and helped her into a heavy fur-collared robe of the finest material. The outfit was snug and comfortable and it warmed her freezing body.

They were in Winterfell. Sarah learned not long after. This fact alone was more frightening than anything else for it could only mean one thing:

The Game of Thrones was only beginning.

Sarah knew the story of course. Though diverging plots of the show and books muddled in her head and left many details unclear. But the beginning of the story was always the same, and Sarah knew it well.

Jon Arryn’s death. Ned Stark was to be made Hand of the King. Bran would fall from the broken tower-

No, she thought. Not fall. Pushed. He would be pushed from the tower. By Jaime Lannister. By her… by  _ her brother _ . Her brother and secret lover.

She saw him now as she entered the dining hall. Jaime sat between some nameless Lord or Knight Sarah did not recognize and Tyrion Lannister, Cersei’s other brother. A gleaming white smile seemed out of place on Jaime’s face compared to the oral hygiene of everyone else, and he had wavy golden hair identical to her own. He spotted her not a moment later, as if some invisible sound signaled him, and suddenly she was under the scrutiny of his cat-green eyes. They were warm and full of love.

Sarah felt deeply uncomfortable.

It must’ve shown on her face because Jaime’s smile dimmed slightly, but he continued to chat amiably with the men around him. Tyrion eyed the two of them strangely and Sarah averted her gaze.

“Mother!”

Someone plowed into her and her arms instinctively wrapped around the girl at her waist, that same golden hair glistening.

“Myrcella,” Sarah nearly stuttered at the girl who was now her daughter. The princess looked up at her with shining green eyes full of youth and innocence. Sarah had cried when the poor girl had been poisoned and died in her father’s arms. Now as she looked down at Myrcella, who couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11 years old, the feeling felt tenfold. She glanced discreetly up at Jaime, but he was not looking.

“Lady Sansa and the Septa Mordane have invited me to join them in their needlework lessons today!” The girl exclaimed brightly.

Sarah struggled to keep the wavering smile on her face, “Have they now?” Was this proper Westeros dialect? How did medieval people speak? “I’m... very glad to hear it,” her mind raced to find the correct words. “You be nice to the Lady Sansa now.”

She must’ve said something weird for Myrcella’s face looked perplex for a moment. But she went on smiling, apparently dismissing the strangeness. “I will, Mother. Lady Sansa is very sweet to me. I would love to have her for a sister.”

“We shall see, Myrcella. Now run along,” Sarah said. Once again, the words felt strange in her mouth, as the muscles fought what her mind remembered. 

She watched the girl skip off to join her brothers at another table. But now that she had sent her off Sarah was at a loss as to what to do with herself. Luckily for her, Tyrion came to save the day.

“Come join us, sweet sister!” The dwarf called out jubilantly. He patted the spot between him and Jaime, a mischievous glint in his mismatched eyes. He looked the mirror image of the actor Peter Dinklage, perhaps younger, and it was startling to hear his deep baritone directed at her.

Sarah hesitated for a moment, fingers tightening in the fabrics of her dress, but then she made her way over and sat herself down between the two brothers. Her brothers. Jaime’s presence burned besides her and she could not bring herself to meet his eyes again. Their secret, or rather he and Cersei’s terrible secret, laid thick and heavy between them; it’s presence almost unbearable.

“A good morning, is it not, Cersei?” Tyrion asked as he took a sip from his goblet.

Sarah jerked her head in a nod which must’ve appeared queer to Tyrion for he gave her a queer look in return.

“Are you feeling well, sister?” He asked.

Sarah was, in fact, not feeling well at all. The panic and the events of the past hour were already churning in her stomach. The food before her, which must’ve been very appetizing to the rest of them but appeared dull and foul to her, did nothing to help this. Cersei’s body was hungry but Sarah did not think she could stand to swallow a single bite. She felt feverish and as if her every word and movement were being scrutinized. She did not know how she came upon this situation and role or how she was to continue it. She did not have the ability to mimic Cersei Lannister. She would fail. She would be found out-

“Sweet sister, your face has turned pale,” Tyrion’s voice floated up to her again, this time it sounded less joking and more serious. His thick brows were furrowed on his large forehead as he examined her face. Someone else placed a large warm hand on her arm.

“Cersei?” Came Jaime’s voice from her right. She hesitantly looked over and saw his concerned green-eyes. “What is it, sweet sister? Have you fallen ill?”

The hall had fallen silent now as the few people present started to turn and listen in on their conversation. The Queen could be ill, it was no wonder they looked.

“I-I” Sarah stuttered feeling dizzy. “I don’t know- I-I mean I’m unsure…”

“You should go back to your chambers,” Jaime urged. He began to stand and pull on her arm, “Come, I will take you myself-”

“NO!”

If the hall was silent before, it would be a graveyard now. No one made a noise at her sudden outburst, but Sarah could not help it. She knew, somehow she just knew, that even though he was probably truly worried for her, that he would try something regardless. Kiss her, maybe. Or more. The idea was sickening.

“N-no,” she replied softer, pulling her arm from his grasp. Hurt flashed past his eyes. “I will be fine. I’ll go myself.” She made to stand up. Another hand grabbed at her arm, stopping her. This time it was Tyrion.

“I will send for the Maester,” he told her. “Go rest now, sister.” He released her and Sarah hastily left the room, not daring to look back at Jaime and avoiding the curious looks of Cersei’s children. She could hear the young voice of what must be Tommen asking “Uncle Tyrion” what was wrong with “mother”.

But that was it wasn’t it? What was wrong with his “mother” was that she was not his mother.

~*~

The Winterfell Maester Luwin had concocted her a tonic for her dizziness and restless stomach. Sarah had poured it out into the chamberpot when she was alone. She was still hoping that this would all be passed by the time she woke again. She was not about to ingest some strange tonic made by dark age knowledge.

Bernadette stood vigil outside her room after helping her out of her robes, ready to fetch her Lady anything she may need at a moments notice. After Jon Arryn’s death, an ill royal was not taken lightly by anyone. She had even been visited by Lady Catelyn Stark and Sansa as they wished her well and left some treats for her: Lemon tarts. They had looked far more appetizing than anything Sarah had seen all day and tasted almost as good. After the whole platter had been cleaned her stomach felt marginally better.

And so Sarah as Cersei went to sleep that night, hoping,  _ praying _ , that she would wake the next morning in her own bed and to the familiar clicking on her fan.

But the morning came and Bernadette rapped on her door once more. This time Sarah had requested her breakfast be brought up to her room and she did not leave all day. She had many visitors, including all three of Cersei’s children - and Joffrey had been as unnerving as he had been in the show, perhaps more - and even Robert Baratheon himself.

“Woman,” he had said gruffly as he came into her room without so much as a knock or announcement. And as terrible as Cersei had been, Sarah burned to see the blatant disrespect this man gave to his wife. “I was told that you have taken ill.”

“I’m better,” Sarah said carefully. She had not forgotten the bruising hit King Robert had given Cersei in the book and show and the insinuation that it had not been the first time he’d struck her. She kept the contempt off her face but she did not lower her guard.

Robert quirked a thick black brow at her, “You sound strange. I suppose it must be true then.” Sarah felt offended then. Had he not believed her? In a world where a common cold could mean a death sentence? At this she narrowed her poison green eyes.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” The words had left her mouth before she could stop them. The words were her own, strange and foreign in this mouth. The same queer accent as her first words that she had tried so hard to quell came out. She watched as Robert's eyes widened.

Then he laughed.

It was a nasty laugh, full bellied and raspy and lightly mocking. “The Kingslayer was correct! You sound terrible, woman. I do not think I’ve ever heard such a sound from your mouth. Perhaps you are more ill than we all thought.” He laughed again and fury burned at her.

“Is that all you have to say?” Sarah snapped hotly, “Your wife is sick and you can only  _ laugh _ ?” He stopped laughing then but she was not done. “Kingslayer or not, at least my brothers are decent enough to be concerned for my health. Especially so soon after your Hand’s death! King or not, you should be ashamed to call yourself any woman’s husband. Go!” She pointed furiously at the door. “Leave! I don’t want to see your face!”

“You dare speak to your King-”

“I said GO!” She yelled at him, beaming one of her feathered pillows at his face. “And don’t you come back unless it is with an apology!” She stood from her bed and made to grab at the empty platter that had previously held the lemon tarts. She wielded it as a weapon and made towards Robert.

He seemed to get the message then despite his bewildered stare. “Crazy woman!” He roared but stepped out of her room regardless. Sarah settled him with one last venomous glare before slamming the heavy wooden door in his face. Then she slid down it’s length and held her head.

What had she gotten herself into?

~*~

Two days of hiding like a scared child in her room were quite enough for Sarah. Any more and she would be going crazy. More crazy than a woman who had woken up in a fictional character’s body.

She staked out with a new determination, her blow up at Robert the night before filling her with a strength she had not previously had. To hell with watching herself, Sarah decided. She could not let the events of the Game of Thrones play out while she withered inside a stone prison of her own design. The consequences be damned.

Her new outlook was not missed by those around her.

Tyrion was one such person. He watched her with bemused interest as she dug into her breakfast in the dining hall, too hungry to care that she had been disgusted by this food only two days prior. But hunger has persuasive ways and Sarah had already decided not to care.

“You seem to be in better spirits, sweet sister.” Tyrion commented. He ate at a more leisurely pace and watched her as if he had never seen her before. It was a partial truth.

Sarah answered him after she had swallowed. “I have just decided that I’m sick of sitting around doing nothing.”

“A very astute decision, sweet sister,” Tyrion said. “Though a man does wonder, what is it that you are planning on doing that requires this much ah… exuberance?”

She looked him full in the eye then, a small smile playing at her lips. “We are Lannisters, sweet brother. We should not do anything by halves. Go big or go home.”  _ As they say _ . It was clear that the phrase was foreign to but not lost on him.

“Strange words,” Tyrion said. “But… I like them. Go big or go home.” He tested the words out on his tongue. “An excellent phrase indeed. Tell me, sweet sister. Where did you come across such words?”

Sarah shrugged at him, feeling lighter than she had in days. “They came to me... in a dream.”

~*~

Jaime wasted little time in cornering her, his large warm hands wrapping around her wrist and his handsome face far too close to hers. He was handsome and beautiful and just the type of man Sarah loved to swoon over.

But he was also her brother now. The father of her bastard children. A threat to the world, to countless lives, to the sanctity of her marriage (as serious as Robert took it, but these time periods had always dismissed male adultery as much as they vilified female unfaithfulness), and to her own life. Plus it was just  _ wrong _ . Perhaps it was just a product of her time and upbringing, and by all accounts Jaime and Cersei are two consenting adults, but Sarah could not help but be disgusted by the insestuous acts. On a screen or in a book was one thing. But now it was real.

Jaime was not the brother she had grown up with, just as she was not the sister he knew and loved, but they shared blood regardless. It was wrong in her humble opinion.

“No, Jaime,” she whispered to him. “We cannot. This… this must stop.”

He blinked at her in bemusement, with eyes identical to her own, as if she were speaking a different language and he could not understand. He quirked a bright smile a moment later, like she had just told him a silly joke.

“I am serious,” Sarah said more sternly and pulled her wrist from his grasp. “It is bad enough that we have sired three children, children Robert believes to be his own, but the consequences of being caught are not worth getting your dick wet.”

“When have we ever worried for such things?” Jaime asked shocked, and she knew he was referring the all the years he and Cersei had been intimate. Since they were teens if the books are to be believed. “What happened to what Tyrion has told me:  _ Go big or go home _ ? Where has this mentality gone to?”

Sarah blinked owlishly at him, “He told you that?” She then shook her head, “That’s besides the point. This is  _ different.” _

“How is it different?”

She let out a groan, “When I told that to Tyrion I was referring to my  _ duties _ . Duties as a mother, as a queen-”

“As a lover?”

“ _ Robert  _ is my husband,” she snapped lowly. “This,” she gestured between them. “Must end. It is unhealthy and dangerous. I-” Sarah fought to find the words, the  _ lie _ . “You will always be my beloved brother, Jaime. I will always love you. But for the sake of  _ our children _ ,” it came to her then, how to convince him.

_ “Think of the children _ ,” Sarah urged him. “If we were to be caught, do you think Robert would forgive them?”

Jaime looked uncertain, “He believes them to be his own-”

“But they  _ are not _ ,” she emphasized. “We are surrounded by honorable Stark men and Robert’s court. Have you forgotten his reaction to Elia’s children? The cruel way that they were slain? You knew Princess Rhaenys, did you not? She was an innocent and Robert  _ did not care _ .”

“Since when have you ever cared for-”

“It does not matter,” she hissed. “The point is that Rhaenys and Aegon were brutally slain and Robert did not care enough to seek justice for the murders of those innocents. Do you think our children will be spared? After he lobs off your head and my own?”

Jaime grew very silent as he contemplated her words. His green eyes grew stormy with internal conflict but Sarah knew that she had won him. Game of Thrones Jaime Lannister was not a bad man. He was not a good one by any stretch, but he was certainly not evil. He loved deeply, and it was from this love that was borne greatly heinous acts. Remove the manipulations of Cersei and he was a person filled with kindness and devotion. Unlike others, Sarah could trust him to forsake honor to do what is right.

“Jaime,” Sarah pressed on. “Please. Promise me that you will no longer pursue this.” She took a leap of faith and pressed her palm gently to his face and felt him lightly press into it. Her heart melted a little and guilt ate at her. He truly did love Cersei. “It is not worth our lives, the lives of our children, the lives of this realm.”

And slowly, he nodded, though it appeared to have pained him to do so. He nodded very solemnly, as if he were agreeing to his own death. It was resigned and sorrowful.

“I love you,” she told him.

“I know,” he replied.

~*~

Robert watched her as she passed by him, though she did not spare him a glance even as she felt his gaze burn into the back her head. He had yet to bring her his apology. So instead, she held on tighter to her son’s hand as she led him across the courtyard. They would be leaving soon.

“Where are we going, Mother?” The boy whined while rubbing his eyes, “It’s early.”

Sarah smiled fondly at him. She’d always liked children. And though these were not her own, if she was to play the role of Cersei Lannister she must also learn to love them. They were her children now, or for however long she was stuck here. And she would not sit back and allow them to fall into ruin.

She must have been put here for a reason. Cersei’s role in the game of thrones was not a minor one. For what other reason than to make major changes would she have been given this part? Without Cersei’s machinations things would no doubt change drastically. Sarah now only had to figure out what to replace them with.

She figured she would start with the children. Cersei’s children were like pawns on the boards of shadowed players. And aside from Joffrey they were innocents. Whether they liked it or not they had been apart of this since long before they were born. They asked not for this fate just as she hadn’t asked to be placed in this role. But they would play the game all the same, and it would be up to her whether they would play as pawns or as players.

Sarah was starting with the youngest. If Joffrey died again - she was still trying to decide if this was an outcome she desired- he would be shoved into the spotlight just as he had before. Myrcella had been the least involved in the events of the Game of Thrones and Sarah figured she could give her some time still. But Tommen was different. His role could come fast and unexpected. She would not let him be unprepared this time.

Or perhaps she was in over her head. But it did not seem like she had many other options.

“To see your Uncle Tyrion,” Sarah replied to the boy’s question. Several days since waking in Winterfell had given her time to adjust and better adopt the Westerosi accent. It was far from perfect but better than it had been.

Tommen made a sour face at that, “But I wanted to sleep.” His soft cheeks were pink from the cold and the expression made him look cute. It was almost impossible to believe that this adorable 8 year old toddler would’ve been taking the throne and his own life in but a few years. Sarah did not have many clues as to what she could do to avert the horrors to come, but she hoped that she could at least save this one child.

“You may sleep later,” she said. “Plus you are a growing boy still. You should be up early and playing with the other children. I believe the younger Stark boy, Brandon, is your age? Have you spoke with him?”

“A little,” Tommen admitted. “But everyone is so  _ strange _ here, Mother. They play strange games. Brandon likes to climb around, but if I did that I would get my robes filthy.”

Sarah let out a light chuckle. “Most boys your age love to climb, Tommen.”

He pouted at her once again, “Not any of the boys at the Red Keep.”

Sarah did not know how the boys at the Red Keep played. Whatever strange god or being that had put her in this world had not the kindness to grace her with Cersei’s memories - or was this a blessing?- and she had little to go off of. But she did suspect that the boys at the Red Keep were mostly sons of Lords and court nobles, and far too respectable to go climbing around like most rambunctious children.

She told him as such much to his disbelief. “It’s true,” she said. “Court life is like walking a thin rope,” she assumed, “and the people are far too careful about following the rules and what is proper. But I think children like you should have fun while you still can. You should give Brandon Stark another chance.”

Tommen’s pudgy pink face screwed up in a ponderous expression as he considered her words.

“Alright, Mother,” he finally said. “I’ll try.”

She smiled back down at him, “Good.”

Tyrion was still in bed when they arrived at his room. Sarah had knocked on the door and almost immediately covered Tommen’s eyes with her hands when the dwarf irritably opened the door, revealing the squat man in all his naked glory. From her position Sarah spotted a equally naked woman lounging on the bed furs.

“Cersei,” the dwarf said with surprise and slight irritation. “What brings you to my room at such an early hour?”

She averted her eyes as she addressed him, still holding onto Tommen’s face as the boy began to struggle. “It is far from early, brother. Could you ah…” Sarah coughed, “Perhaps dress and invite us in.”

Tyrion glanced down at Tommen and back up at her, not the least bit embarrassed at his nudity, and nodded his consent. “I will be ready in a minute.” And he closed the door.

A few minutes later and the door swung open again. This time Tyrion was fully dressed, as was the prostitute he must’ve hired the night before. The woman planted a sensual kiss on the dwarf’s lips and flitted out of the room. Sarah did not comment.

“Come, sweet sister,” Tyrion beckoned. “And sweet nephew.” They all took seats at the circular table in the room. “What has brought you to my door on this morning?”

“I came to ask a favor of you,” Sarah said.

“A favor?”

She nodded. “Tommen is almost nine now,” and there was slight look of bemusement that told her she had once again said her words strangely. “I wish for him to begin more lessons before we depart for King’s Landing.”

There was a sound of protest from the boy at the same time Tyrion asked curiously, “Lessons?”

“Yes, I would like him to study more on the machinations of the high court, on philosophy, and the likes,” Sarah admitted, hoping her words made sense.

Tyrion regarded her for a moment, with those mismatched eyes of green and black, before carefully asking, “Why have you come to me with this request?”

“You are… smart, Tyrion,” she said. “I know we do not give you credit for it, but you are possibly one of the most intelligent men in all the Seven Kingdoms. You are privy to information that others are not for most underestimate you. They see not your brain behind your stature. You know the inner workings of the mind and of people. I wish for you to impart these important lessons to my son.”

“Then you are not my sister,” he replied. Then laughed. The suddenness of the statement startled Sarah and for a moment she feared she had let herself go too much. That he knew. But it seemed that this was not the case.

Tyrion’s laughter eventually died down, “You… Heh, you are serious?”

“I am…” She replied uncertain.

“You have been acting most queer as of late,” he said waving a fat finger at her. “You are wise to have come to me for this. And you do not have to use your sweet words with me, sister. I know you do not mean them and I would help my nephew regardless.”

She nearly let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Tyrion,” she said and he nodded. “I do not think I can trust any other with this request. He must be  _ prepared _ .” Sarah tightened her grip on Tommen’s shoulder, “There are many who would take advantage of him, spin lies and trick him. I want him to be vigilant, but also wise and kind. No doubt he will serve on Joffrey’s counsel when they are of age. He should know how to be kind and just as well as cautious.”

“And Joffrey?”

Sarah bit her bottom lip at this. She had an idea but she was not sure how well she could pull it off. “Joffrey is a… complex boy.”

Tyrion snorted. She shot him an icy glare because Cersei would do the same.

“He does not listen to many,” she went on. “He will most certainly not heed your counsel. He does not respect you.”

“Most do not.”

“But,” Sarah said. “He may listen to me.”

~*~

A day after her conversation with Tyrion Sarah had yet to speak to Joffrey. If she were being entirely honest the boy terrified her. She had only the events of the books and show to reveal the true faces of the people around her, but that gave her little insight to events not written. Was Joffrey a sadist by birth? A megalomaniac psychopath with no redemption? Or had his upbringing under the egotistical Robert Baratheon and the cruel Cersei turned him into the nightmare he was today? It was impossible for her to tell and that frightened her.

She watched him closer now. Looking for any signs of humanity - or lack of thereof- that she may capitalize on. There didn’t seem to be much. The boy enjoyed being cruel and he hid it terribly. His mask of kindness was barely half-formed and he gave himself away more often than not. In the way he spoke to his lessers, in the way he wielded his statues-given protection, and in most facets of his body language Joffrey seemed to be all she feared him to be.

Lord knows what that poor girl Sansa saw in him. How blind she was from her fairytales of gallant knights and kind nobels. Sarah knew better. Even if she had not seen the events of the game of thrones unfold before her eyes once before, she would still know. People did not change no matter what scenario you set them in. Greed and power-lust often prevailed above all else and set the world into ruin. Prosperity did not beget morality. The richest man in the world was not always the kindness - often just the opposite- just as the poorest peasant was not always a villain. Sansa did not seem to understand this by the way she sighed longingly after the cruel Prince.

They were betrothed. Had been before Sarah awoke in this world. A fact which made her work more difficult. Eddard Stark would take his daughters down the King’s Landing with their convoy, and he would begin his investigation into the death of Jon Arryn.

Jon Arryn’s death was another issue all together. Sarah had yet to meet Petyr Baelish but she feared he would see straight through her.  _ The most dangerous man in all the Seven Kingdoms,  _ she thought _.  _ She herself was no great mind or strategist. There were no need for those skills in her line of work: Computer Sciences -- much good it did her here. Her foresight would give her many advantages. But would it give her enough to outwit Little Finger?

She would have to somehow reveal the man’s involvement in Jon Arryn’s death. That may suffice to distract Lord Stark from looking further into the parentage of Cersei’s children. If she were found out Sarah was not sure what she would do. Where would she go? In the plot, Ned had advised Cersei to flee with her children to the Free Cities, but that would do her little good now. And it would leave the iron throne free for Little Finger’s manipulations.

Of course, without Cersei’s own manipulations there was a good chance Robert may not even die. But even so, Ned would still discover her children and then she would have a egotistical King after her head. There was also the issue of Daenerys across the sea. If the dragon princess knew that Cersei was near, Sarah and the children would be no safer there. There was nowhere to run to.

But those were concerns for another day. Now there wasn’t much she could do about it all. She could not remember when the hidden message for Eddard and Catelyn would arrive either. For now she could only focus on Cersei’s children.

Robb Stark and Joffrey were in the training yard now under the watchful eye of the Winterfell Master of Arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel. Cersei’s son had just begun his verbal jabs at the other and Robb was not yet mature enough to ignore them. It was another mark against Joffrey. It seemed in his nature to be cruel.

How was she supposed to shape such a person into someone worthy to rule? Cersei and Robert had done a number on him as he grew, and he was spoiled and rotten to the core. There seemed no hope for the boy.

Ser Rodrik was shouting now, trying his best to rein in the stubborn and proud boys as Joffrey continued to needle at Robb, reveling in fact that no one could do anything against him. Though Sarah was sure, if given the chance Robb would love to put Joffrey on his ass. The boys were both of similar heights but it was clear who was larger. The men of the North seemed to be made of different substance. Harder, coarser, as if weathered down by the ice itself until nothing was left but hard tempered steel.

Robb was still a boy, but even now Sarah could see the man he would become if the paths led down that way. If Robert died, if anything were to happen to Eddard and his girls, then that grinning teenage boy down in the courtyard would become a deadly wolf.

Sarah spotted another major player now. She had not seem him much since she awoke nearly a week ago. No doubt the boy was trying to keep out of sight as the black sheep of the Stark household. Jon Snow stood silent and attentive to the bickering of Joffrey and Robb, his direwolf pup Ghost just as silent beside him.

He looked younger than his show counterpart. Or perhaps it was just that she knew that this was a sixteen year old boy instead of an actor in his mid-twenties. He would be taking the Black soon and play a key role in fighting back the threat beyond the wall. Sarah still shivered thinking about it. It was one thing to awaken in an impossible situation and another still to know of strange deathless creatures with an army of the dead, hellbent on laying waste to all things living. A hundred miles or a thousand, she did not know how far away they were, just that they  _ were _ . They existed this very moment. The thought was chilling.

“Why are you staring at my brother?”

Sarah’s musings left her and she turned her focus to the girl speaking to her. Arya too looked younger than her actor doppelganger. Eleven was far too young to go through all the things she had - an maybe still would - experienced. The girl glared at her now without any sort of mask and suspicion in her eyes. She did not trust the Queen. Sarah bit back a smile,  _ smart girl _ .

“I was watching my sons,” she replied. “I noticed your brother’s wolf and went to take a look. I’ve never seen a direwolf before.”

“Greywind isn’t here.”

It took Sarah a moment to understand what Arya was saying, and once she did her lips stretched into a thin smile. “I referred to Jon Snow, or would you rather I call him ‘bastard’ as everyone else does? You called him your brother so I did not see any reason not to honor that title.”

Arya blinked at her owlishly then and her small pale face flushed pink. Sarah let out a small laugh.

“Be calm, child,” she continued. “I am not offended by your assumptions. No doubt many assume badly of me. No. I was simply admiring the wolf and watching my boys. Your other brother, Robb, is an exceptional swordsman.” At least, it appeared impressive to her. Sarah had little knowledge to make her assumptions.

“He’s good...” Arya said slowly. “But not as good as Jon. You should see him fight too if you thought Robb was good.” The girl leaned over the wooden banister and grinned down at her brother/cousin. “Jon is the exceptional one.”

“You must look up to him immensely.”

Arya flushed again. “I-”

“Or is it the swordplay that attracts you?”

Arya paused at the question and fixed Sarah with a bewildered - and suspicious once more - expression. She gave no answer for several silent moments so Sarah continued.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” she said. “My brother and I, Ser Jaime, use to look much more alike when we were young. During his sword lessons sometimes we would switch places. No one could tell us apart anyway, until we grew older.” These were fabricated lies for Sarah knew not of Cersei’s childhood, but it seemed plausible enough.

“You are lying,” Arya accused.

“Am I?” Sarah asked. “You must learn to guard your tongue, Arya Stark. Most would not take kindly to such harsh accusations.”

“But you are lying.”

Sarah shrugged, “Believe what you will, child. But I won’t judge you for wanting to fight. We live in a dangerous world and bad people will not wait for a gallant knight to come save the girl. Your Lord father is an honorable man and your brothers excellent fighters, but they may not always be there to protect you.”

“W-winterfell is safe…”

“Nowhere is safe in war,” Sarah warned darkly.

Arya looked alarmed. “War? What war? There isn’t a  war.”

“No yet, perhaps. But war will always come. It is in the nature of men.” Sarah thought then to her own world, of the wonders of technology and the abundance of resources, and how still then men warred. Not to say that a matriarchal society would end up any different, but Sarah always wondered.

The girl had stopped watching her and seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. Sarah allowed her the time and returned to watching the boys fight in the yard. Robb had left by now, stormed off in anger and humiliation, while Joffrey grinned triumphantly and Tommen rolled around the ground, weighed down by his padding. Sarah let out a deep sigh.

“Joff,” she called down, garnering her the attention of all the men down in the training yard. “Please help your brother up.” Poor sweet Tommen.

“Of course, Mother,” Cersei’s eldest replied up with faux chivalry. Then he turned to his guard, the Hound Sandor Clegane, and said, “Help my brother stand, Dog.” The scarred man shrugged and leaned down to assist Tommen. Sarah frowned.

She would not call him out on it now, for that would just humiliate Joffrey and she would lose any control she had over him. But she could not let him continue as such. Her request had been for him only, not anyone else. Joffrey had to learn to uphold his own duties if he were to be a good King.

Once Tommen was standing again, he looked up at Sarah with a sheepish flushed expression. His green eyes flickered over to Arya standing next to her and a grin split across his chubby face. He waved jubilantly.

Sarah watched in pleasant surprise as the girl waved back as well, though her dark eyes still swam with brewing thoughts. When had these two become so friendly?

And then it struck her as she watched Tommen blush up at Arya, as her mind recalled the one woman that had captured Tommen’s heart. The wife of two kings: Margaery Tyrell. How she had ensnared both the boys by appealing to their true selves. Tommen’s kindness and Joffrey’s cruelties.

Slowly, a plan began to take form in her mind.

~*~

“Lord Eddard.”

They met in the godswood the afternoon before their departure. Sarah had wandered here after sitting in on Tyrion’s lesson with Tommen. So far it had been alright. The boy of eight was not keen on the intricacies of the lessons and was often bored. Sarah had watched amused as Tyrion tried his best to keep the boy entertained as they slowly moved to more complex subject matters. To his credit, Tyrion was exceptional with children. It was clear why Tommen and Myrcella favored their Uncle.

But the day was coming to a close and Sarah had yet to see the famous godswood, with ancient faces carved into the pale bark of the Weirwood trees. She had wondered whether she would run into the Lord of Winterfell here, praying to his gods of old. And there he was, kneeling beneath the bizarre trees, with his eyes closed and head bowed.

Sarah debated on calling out to him or leave the man to his prayers, but he had looked up - she must’ve stepped too loud - and so she acknowledged him.

“Your Grace,” Eddard Stark replied. “How may I be of assistance?”

She shook her head, “I am just examining the trees, my Lord. They’re beautiful... but chilling.”

“The North often is,” Eddard replied fondly as he looked back at the Weirwood. “I think I should miss them when we go south.” He glanced back at her, some hesitation in his gaze. “Robert tells me that you have not spoke to him since taking ill.”

Her mood and expression immediately soured. Sarah was not particularly fond of Cersei, but as a fellow woman she burned at the thought of her treatment at the hands of her husband. “He has not brought me his apologizes, my Lord.”

“Apologizes?”

“I know Robert is your friend, Lord Eddard,” Sarah said slowly. “I know he was once a great man. But it has been many years since you’ve seen him. Time has a way of changing men, but even then… Robert holds no love for me, my Lord. It is your sister he longs for still.”

Ned Stark remained silent at this as the bitter truth hung between them.

“He hits me, you know,” Sarah admitted as she recalled Cersei’s confession. “In places others cannot see. And when he is drunk enough to clamber up to my chambers after his whoring-” She let out a mirthless laugh, “Well… Only a fool would accuse a King of rape, but trust me when I say consent has never left my lips.”

Eddard’s face remained stony and unchanged, but his eyes were wide with shock. “My Queen… Why are you telling me this?”

Sarah shrugged, “After I took ill,”  _ after I awoke in this world,  _ “I came to the conclusion that I would take his abuse no more. Did you know he laughed when he learned I was sick? I will not stand by it any longer. I will have his apologizes or he will not have me at all. Do not be fooled, my Lord. Robert is not a kind man, no matter what you remember. He whores and spends without a care, he has no desire to sit on the iron throne, no desire to rule, and he has no desire to be my husband. I won’t make any excuses for his behavior. It would serve you well to know these truths.”

“He…” The Warden of the North trailed off, “I am sorry, for his actions, for what he has done for you.”

“You are kind and honorable, Lord Stark,” she said. “But it is not your apologies I want. Forgive me, but your apologies mean nothing to me. You cannot take his faults onto yourself. This is something only Robert can fix. Though… I am not sure I would forgive him even if he did. But enough of this subject for now. Let us speak of better things… Our children. I hear that you and Robert have talked of Arya and Tommen wedding when they are of age?”

Ned appeared startled at the sudden change but nodded. “He feels it would be best to tie our houses together.”

“It is because he loves you,” Sarah said. “And of course, you are to be his hand. The marriage of our children will further cement your position. But I must caution you once again, my Lord.”

“About what?”

“My son, Joffrey,” she carefully said. “Sansa is young - naive. Her head is filled with children’s tales. I’m sure you have already seen it, but Joffrey is not the gallant prince your daughter believes him to be. I do not know for how much longer I will be able to control him, but if Sansa continues as she does she will end up a victim.”

Eddard’s eyes widened startled, “What do you mean by this? What has- Has the boy done something?”

Sarah shook her head. “No. Not yet at least. But it would do you good to prepare her for the worst. Joffrey is much like his father in many ways,”  _ his stepfather _ , “and pompous and egotistical are but two of many traits they share. I will not lie to you, Lord Stark. My son is arrogant and privileged. He believes himself to be better than his subjects. And he can be cruel. It is one thing to be a cruel man, and it is another to be a cruel boy on the cusp of manhood. I do not think I need elaborate further to you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Sarah thought about that for a moment. “I- When I fell ill… I had a strange dream. For many days I felt lost and removed from this realm.” Eddard seemed intrigued at this. “And when I woke from my dream things were different. They had changed. I do not know how to explain it. But the realm has many more barriers it must overcome and it’s children have suffered enough. You love your children do you not?”

“I do,” he said.

“And you would do what you must to protect them?”

He seemed more hesitant now, the honorable fool he was. “I would.”

“I am the same,” she replied. “But now I see more than my children. I see a suffering realm. One that those who play the game of thrones care not for. And as we continue on this path more children will suffer and die. I wish to change this. But as it stands, with Robert’s frivolous spendings and lack of care and Joffrey’s cruelties, the realm does not stand to expect much better.”

“You are…” Ned said, “Different than how I remember-”

“Than how Robert speaks of me?” She asked.

He was hesitant in his nod, but agreed all the same.

“I do not blame you,” Sarah said. “It’s true. I was a Lannister through and through. We are a greedy and power hungry bunch. However, since taking ill things appear different to me. There are somethings more important than power. I do not know if you will believe me when I say so, but it is true regardless.”

He considered their words and silence fell upon them in the cold quiet sight of the Weirwoods, their wooden faces watching them close. Sarah could not know if they truly saw. She had at one point in her life, not even two weeks ago, not believed in any gods. But now she could not say. Here in the world of strange magic where she had been impossibly displaced, who was she to say what was real and what was not. Perhaps the godswood did see and listen. Perhaps they were listening now.

Finally, Eddard spoke again, “I thank you, your Grace, for the words you have given me. I do not know for what reason you would impart such information onto me, and I cannot deny that I am suspicious of folly,  but you have given me much to think on. I will heed your counsel about Sansa. And I pray that the things you say do not come to pass.”

She nodded, “Thank you for your ear, Lord Stark. There are few men I can entrust with these words. Dangerous times lay ahead of us, I fear, and it is good that there are men yet who will listen to the words of women.” On this she thought about the King. “And before I bid you farewell so that you may prepare for the journey tomorrow, I have another thing to ask of you.”

“Speak, my Lady.”

“It is on Arya,” Sarah said. “The girl has the spirit of a direwolf, and it would do both you and her good to hone that spirit.”

“What is it that you mean?”

“Mark my words, Lord Stark, but that girl was not meant to be a lady. Much less a southern one,” Sarah warned. “The sooner you realize that and act accordingly the better. She and Tommen have become friends, but I cannot see your fierce daughter playing the role of a demur court wife.”

Ned frowned but did not refute her statement. “You have been watching her.”

“I have,” she admitted. “The girl came and spoke with me the other day in the training yard. She yearns to fight and wield a sword. It is not in her nature to sew and gossip and rear children as it is for your eldest daughter. And I feel it would be good for her to learn her way around a sword so that she may protect herself.”

“She will have guards,” he said but Sarah shook her head.

“As I have told Arya already, there are no safe places in a war and bad men do not wait for gallant knights to come save the day,” she said. “Your daughter is already a fighter. You and I can both see that clearly. It is only a matter of letting go of what people say is proper and allow her to prosper. Better you help her on her way there or she hurt herself attempting it alone. But the decision is yours, Lord Stark. You have already lent me your ear enough today, so I will now leave you be.”

She started to turn and walk away.

“Thank you, your Grace.”

Sarah did not answer the man, fearing she would offset the already delicate situation, and continued on her way.

~*~

They left on the morn. Sarah once again felt the heavy gaze on the King following her as she stepped into the wheelhouse, but she kept her head forward and her eyes averted. She caught sight of Jaime’s warm green eyes and she flashed him a small secretive smile and he grinned, bright and warm, right back. The tension between them had yet to fully bleed away, but it was softer now and less harrowing. She found herself speaking to her brother more and even alone on some occasions, but nothing happened between them. He still watched her sometimes with a hurt in his gaze but he respected her wishes and she thanked him for it.

The day was long and the ride was excruciatingly boring. Myrcella had spoke and eventually fallen asleep with her blonde head in Sarah’s lap. Occasionally she would open the window shutters of the wheelhouse and converse with the knights outside - Jaime mostly for Tyrion had gone further north to the wall for a little sightseeing and height pissing - but things were mostly uneventful.

By the third day Sarah was tempted to ask for a horse, just for a change of scenery. Staying cooped up in the wheelhouse was killing her back and legs and she wished to move. But she did not see how she could make such a strange request without garnering unwanted attention so she let it be and suffered silently as her muscles cramped.

She had still yet to speak to Joffrey of his lessons. She knew what she would do now but executing her plan posed a challenge. The boy still frightened her. It could not be put it off forever, she knew, but she was still hesitant to begin.

It seemed her timing was sorely lacking for, before she knew it, Sansa had returned to camp one day sobbing after having gone out with Joffrey. Arya was nowhere to be found.

Sarah knew immediately what she must do. She tracked down the Hound when word reached her and pulled him aside with a cold glare. “Find the butcher’s boy, but do not harm him. I do not care what orders my son gives you, I am your Queen and my word takes precedence. Find the boy and bring him to me unharmed.” Then she set him off with those orders and hoped what she feared would not come to pass.

Then Joffrey had come to her, red eyed and teary, and proclaimed how the savage Northern girl had set her wolf upon him. His arm was red and bleeding.

Sarah called for a healer at once and reassured him that she would make things right. Then she set off to find Lord Eddard.

She found him in agitation as he tried to console his hysterical eldest daughter while ordering his men to find his youngest. He did not hear her when she called for him so she placed a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention.

“My Lannister men will assist you,” she told him. “We will find Arya and make sure she is safe. I promise.” He looked at her suspiciously as if their previous conversation had fled his mind in his worry. “I am not upset with your girl or her friend or her wolf. I simply wish for them all to be returned unharmed.”

It took a day and a night but finally Ned’s captain, Ser Jory, found Arya and her wolf.

But her pigheaded husband had other ideas and called a gathering in his tent. It was the closest she had been to him in almost a month though she still did not look at him. Joffrey stood to her other side, arm bandaged and face shining with malicious glee. When Arya had been found his men had brought her straight to them. Ned had stormed into the tent not long after and demanded to know why his daughter had not been brought straight to him, accusing gaze settling finally on Sarah.

Nymeria was still with them this time around, and the direwolf pup growled upon seeing Joffrey and the boy paled and flinched back.

“Someone get that damned wolf out of here,” Robert barked irritably. Arya shouted protests as several guards rounded on the wolf and began to herd her out.

“Leave her alone!” Arya kicked and scratched and bit at the guards, until Ned grabbed her and held her back.

“Not now, child,” he said sternly and the girl quelled under the hard voice of her father.

“Now then, what is the meaning of all this,” Robert demanded. And almost immediately Arya burst into a series of loud and angry accusations while Joffrey spat right back at her, the plots of each tale clashing with one another. “Be quiet! How am I supposed to hear with all this yelling. Ned, calm your girl. Joffrey, you speak first.”

“I’d seen her and that butcher’s boy fighting,” Joffrey immediately began . “I tried to stop the stupid boy-”

“He was  _ helping  _ me,” Arya snapped.

“Be quiet Arya,” Ned said and her jaw clicked shut furiously.

Joffrey continued, “But then she attacked me with a stick and threw Lion’s Tooth into the river and knocked me down. And then she set her mangy dog on me-!”

“LIAR!”

Arya spat and struggled and then turned to her father pleadingly, “Father, he’s  _ lying _ -”

“Quiet girl,” Robert demanded. He turned to his son, “Are you telling me, that this untrained slip of a girl was able to disarm you and knock you to the ground?” Joffrey’s face paled and somewhere in tent Sarah heard laughter. Her head whipped around and she caught the mirthful gaze of Renly Baratheon. She glared at him cooly.

Robert grunted with disappointment and returned his gaze to Arya and Ned. “It’s your turn. What happened?”

And so Arya launched into her tale of how she and the boy Mycah had been play sword fighting when Joffrey and Sansa had arrived, and how Joffrey had attacked Mycah and so she hit him. And when she had done that he had tried threatened to gut her and Nymeria was only trying to protect her.

“What am I supposed to do with this!” Robert bellowed furiously. “This one tells me one story, the other tells me another!”

“Robert…” Ned sighed.

“No, Ned,” Robert growled. “This has gone too far.” And suddenly he had turned his bright blue eyes to Sarah. “Well woman, he is your son. What is it that you want?”

She blinked in surprise. She had not expected his first words to her in nearly a moon to be that of a question. Was he asking her opinion? She did not yet know how to respond without Joffrey thinking she was no longer on his side, but also without letting him believe she condone this behavior.

But fortunately they were interrupted by the arrival of more people. The Hound stepped into the room holding the shoulder of a quivering redheaded boy. Arya gasped, “Mycah!”

“The boy in question,” Sarah said cooly, attempting to appear as impartial as possible. “Mycah is it?”

The butcher’s boy stiffened in fear, “Y-yes, your Grace…”

She took in his features and to the shallow cut on his face and the trail of dried blood running down his cheek. “Where did you come by that injury? The one on your face. The truth now, boy.”

Mycah glanced nervously between her and Joffrey and back up at the horribly burnt face of the Hound. His swallow was visible to them all and he hesitantly answered in a quavering voice, “T-the P-prince. He pointed his s-sword at me. T-t-told me he would k-kill me for hurting, Lady Stark. B-but I wasn’t! I s-swear it! I was only doing as she asked!”

This time it was she who turned to face Robert. “He story matches Ned’s girl’s.” She then turned to Joffrey, “Did you use your sword that boy, sweetling?”

If at all possibly, his face turned more pale beneath the flame light. “I- I was only protecting Lady Arya. A butcher’s boy should know better than to attack his betters…” Joffrey trailed off, fear evident on his youthful face and Sarah’s heart almost went out to him. But not quite.

Sarah debated. Finally she spoke while looking Eddard Stark straight in the eye, “I agree. A butcher’s boy is not suitable to be weilding a sword against a nobel. Anything could’ve happened.  My son is correct in this regard.” Joffrey’s face seemed to light up at her words, as if they were a ray of hope. “However, Arya did ask this of Mycah and as a simple butcher’s boy he cannot deny the daughter of a Lord such a request.” Arya looked horrified at this, as if it hadn’t occurred to her that Mycah may not have had a choice after all.

“It seems to me,” Sarah continued, addressing Robert fully now. “That this was all a terribly misunderstanding, but one made by willful children. I do not feel that any of them should be held fully accountable for the events of yestermorn. Mycah cannot be blamed for a situation he had no choice in and Arya cannot be blamed for wanting to defend her friend. Ser Clegane,” she called and the Hound looked at her. “Let the poor boy return to his father.”

The Hound released Mycah and the boy scurried out of the tent. Joffrey seemed to be stone next to her.

“T-the wolf,” he rasped. “I- Mother,  _ look  _ what that beast did to my arm!” He held up the bandaged arm where red had seeped through in certain spots. It was a grievous wound for a child but certainly one he had brought upon himself. “I want the wolf dead, Mother,” he pleaded with her. “It hurt me and I want it dead!”

“NO-!” Came Arya’s heart wrenching cry. “Leave Nymeria alone!”

“The wolf too,” Sarah continued calmly as if Arya had not shouted. “Cannot be blamed for protecting it’s Master.” She looked at the girl, “You have a loyal companion, Arya. Though I hope that in the future Nymeria will be better trained and not attack my children.”

Arya once again appeared startled at her words. “I-I will, your Grace,” the girl stuttered. She did not offer her thanks though Sarah suspected that she may have been in too much shock. It seemed everyone in the tent were shocked at her reasonable words.

“Mother-” Joffrey began to whine.

“No, sweetling,” she said to him. “I understand your grievances, but a good King cannot let his passion cloud his judgement. You are soon to be a man grown, Joffrey. It is time that you learn these lessons.” She could feel Robert’s heavy gaze burning into the side of her head, “As King, you must do what is best for the realm, even if it means your pride suffers. Take this pain and lesson onto yourself and grow from it. I know you are capable.”

Sarah looked back to Robert, “I believe we are done here. It’s been a long two days. I will be glad to have some rest before we depart again.”

Robert was silent for many moments, watching as if he did not know what to make of her, then he barked, “You all heard the woman! We are done with this. Get out!”

Everyone immediately began to move for the exit, soft chatter spreading across the crowd. Sarah spotted Eddard maneuvering his daughter towards the exit and so she grabbed her own son’s shoulders and steered him out.

“Cersei,” she heard behind him and for a moment she was surprised. She and the King had not shared many words since she’d awoke in Westeros, but thus far he had always referred to her disrespectfully as “woman”, as if her biology was the only defining feature of her. This was the first time she’d ever heard his wife’s name leave his lips. It tempted her to turn.

But… It was still not an apology. Sarah had broken her self-imposed silence tonight because the situation had demanded it. But she still stood by her word. No exchanges would occur between them unless it began with his apology. So she steadily ignored the call and continued forward, not wavering for even a single step, and left the tent with Joffrey.

They had made it back to her tent, for she foresaw that the boy would probably want to speak to her after, and almost as soon as they stepped in he ripped himself from her grasp and turned on her furious.

“You shamed me!” Joffrey accused furiously, wet glistening in his eyes. “Y-you said you would make it better, but you let them get away with hurting me and embarrassing me in front of Father!” He kicked furiously at the ground, unable to contain his anger.

“Calm down, Joff,” she demanded softly. “Calm down and I will speak to you. I am your mother and you are not yet a man grown. You’ll show me the respect I deserve.”

His face turned red with fury but he did not spit anymore words at her. Instead he paced around restlessly until slowly the anger left him. Then he sat down on the bed and looked at her.

“Why, Mother?” He asked in a small sad voice, “You said you would make it all better. You said you would fix it. But you didn’t…”

“I did fix it,” Sarah replied calmly. “It may not feel it now. I’m sure you feel embarrassed and shamed at the moment, but you must trust your mother when I say that was the best possible outcome of that situation.” And so the lessons begin.

“How could it have been!” He demanded, voice rising again. “You-”

“Lower your voice,” she said cutting him off. “I have already told you. I will not speak to you if you act like a brute. That is your first lesson. A King must be calm and collected, even in the face of great turmoil.”

Joffrey blinked at her in confusion, “Lesson?”

“Yes, lessons. I’ve put this off for far too long, and the Gods know your father will not sit you down and teach you how to be a King, useless as he is at the job himself,” she shook her head. “As your mother, that duty now falls to me. And your first lesson is to control your passion and anger. Do you know what would’ve happened in that congregation had I not silenced your outbursts and peacefully resolved the problem? If I had indulged your righteous fury?”

He must’ve sensed a trap there for he remained silent.

“I will tell you,” she continued. “Your Uncle Renly was a good example. You and I, and everyone else in that tent, heard his laugh. Renly Baratheon has little self control because he has no need for it. He holds no real position of responsibility so he can be loose and free in his actions. Judgement will not affect his standing, as the King’s brother, in this world. But you? Renly Baratheon had mocked you because he can, and rest assured others felt the same but did not have the same freedom to openly laugh.”

Joffrey’s face turned red once more.

“But you are different from Renly Baratheon. He is the King’s brother. You are the King’s son and heir. You cannot play the same game by the same rules. Had I let you continue your childish outburst the others would judge you by it. And a King who is shown in a bad light is a King without respect. And a King without respect loses his power.”

“A King cannot lose his power,” Joffrey argued. “He is King.”

“King Aerys, the Mad King, lost his power,” Sarah reminded him. “He sought to rule by fear and did not care for the concerns and judgements of others. King Aerys murdered without thought, burned his victims and subjects without care. It turned out to be his downfall in the end when your father and Lord Eddard, after the murders of Brandon and Rickard Stark, rose up together to overthrow the Mad King. They judged him to be unfit for rule, and he lost his crown and head for it. Never underestimate the power of judgement, especially when you sit at the top of the realm where all eyes can see you.”

 


End file.
